


Worth the Wait

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Harry Potter - Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Sunburn, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-22
Updated: 2010-01-22
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:35:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,267
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54229
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ron has an unpleasant trip. Harry and Hermione make it all better.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth the Wait

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for [](http://www.livejournal.com/users/calliope14/profile)[](http://www.livejournal.com/users/calliope14/)**calliope14**, since she asked for Ron-centric Trio smut on her wishlist meme. Happy holidays, teach. ::salutes::

If I'm very, very quiet, maybe they won't notice I'm here, Ron thought, sticking his head through the back door. The house was still and silent save for the intermittent hum of the Muggle appliences and the box fan set up in the kitchen windowclearly not even Hermione's iron will had been able to cow the cooling charms into proper behavior, though to Ron even the height of the English summer felt rather cool after two weeks in the Carribean. And that suited him more than fine, because England was _home._

He waited tensely, but if anyone was home they were being awfully quiet about it. Perhaps they weren't even home; it was one o'clock on a Tuesday afternoon, after all, but neither Aurors nor Unspeakables worked terribly regular hours, or at least no more regular than junior investigative reporters for the _Daily Prophet._ And he'd left behind an itinerary. No, they were in the housesomewhere. Laying in wait. His only hope was to make it to the back stair without drawing anyone's attention.

He eased the door open, mindful of the squeak, and dragged his slightly-ragged duffle in after him. Take it up or leave it here? It was heavy and clumsy, hard to manuver silently, but if he left it lying about they might notice and give chase. He decided at length to take it up; if worst came to worst he could always turn down the bedroom lights and ply them with

"Ron!"

__

"Shit!" He dropped the bag, which crashed alarmingly, and tried to turn around to face his attackers. The damn little sandles he'd been forced to wear skidded on the linoeum and sent him sprawling spraddle-legged to the floor. Right on his arse. His very _tender_ arse "Ow," he gasped, then looked up guiltily at the two people standing over him with wide eyes and jaws agape. "Hello," he said, and tried to force a winning smile onto his abused face.

Harry looked at Hermione, who shook her head. "Welcome home, darling," she said, folding her arms. "Now explain."

Ron looked down at himself, then back at his girlfriend. "Which part?" he asked.

"All of it."

"Which order, then?"

Harry sighed and offered him a hand. "How about we start with the sunburn and work our way outward from there?"

"Sound good to _meee-eeee..." _Ron hissed when Harry gripped his forearm. "Careful there, mate."

"Sorry."

Harry deposited him in a kitchen chaira liberally padded kitchen chair, thank Godand then leaned casually against the counter. He was wearing ragged jeans and a worn tee-shirt that had shrunk just a tad too much in the wash; it clung deliciously around the contours of his chest and shoulders. Hermione, clad in a cheerful printed sundress with her hair pulled up in a straggly bun, parked herself another chair. "Okay," Ron said gamely. "Sunburn. Right."

"How far does it go, to start with?" Hermione asked. "Or do we want to know?"

Ron licked his chapped lips. "It's like this. That bloke the paper wanted me to investigate?"

"The one in the potion scandal?"

He nodded. "Well, it turns out he's got his own private island in the Caribbean somewhere and that's where he hides in the off-season. His manager and his secretary were stonewalling me, his teammaters wouldn't talk on the record, and every other Quidditch reporter in the northern hemisphere's already worked through the usual leads a thousand times over. So, I decided to do a little...what d'you call it..."

"Ambush journalism?" Hermione offered.

He glared. "Creative investigation."

"I see."

Ron sighed, and rubbed his peeling nose. "Right. Sowell, you'll read the article, but I had to track this fellow all over trying to get a lead on him. And he spent a lot of time on the beach."

Hermione frowned. "Ron I packed you two bottles of sunblock when you left"

"I'm getting to that." He focused his eyes on the place mats and took a deep breath. "He spent a lot of time on a _nude_ beach.

Harry smothered an intense snicker. Hermione groaned. "Oh, Ron, don't tell me"

"That's that's not the worst part?"

"Isn't it?"

Harry rubbed his nose to conceal a smile. "He still hasn't explained the getup, Hermione. Or why he's back eight hours early."

She pinched the bridge of her nose. "Do we want to know?"

Ron looked between them, and figured he might as well get the worst part over with. "I sort of got deported."

__

"What?"

He cringed. "Iwelllook, it's a complicated story, but the important points are that I lost my credentials, I lost my clothes, and no matter what the guide books say that was _not_ English they were speaking down there. It was a...a misunderstanding, you might say."

She buried her face in her hands. "I don't want to know. I don't...just...please tell me you're not to prison for it."

"No..."

"Good."

"I don't think so, anyway."

Hermion moaned again, but Harry just shook his head. "And I assume you lost your normal clothes at the same time as your visa and press pass?"

"And all my money," he added mournfully. Since it didn't look like they were going to shout at him, he might as well work some sympathy here. "Some little brats at the beach made off with my bag while my back was turned."

"So where'd you get that?" he asked, gesturing to include the garish tropical shirt, the luridly-colored swim trunks and the terrible little foam thong sandles that left his toes curling over the edge.

Ron sighed. "This is what they gave me to wear when they released me. Believe me, I did _not_ pick this out..."

Harry just shook his head laughing, and Hermione finally lifted her head with a strained smile. "Well. The important part is that you're home and your safe." She leaned over and kissed him on his raw-burnt cheek, and then rather more warmly on the mouth. "Welcome back."

He sighed into her cheek and inhaled the smell of her soap. "Believe me, I'm glad to be back." And then he yawned.

Harry chuckled. "Damn, mate, what time are you on?"

"Eh..." He glanced at his watch, one of the few things the little thieves hadn't made off with. "I have nine o'clock in the morning. They let me out of the cell about two hours ago."

Hermione cringed on the word _cell,_ but didn't comment on it. "What did you go to sleep, then?"

He thought back. "Um...threeish? Fourish? It was past midnight when I got arrested..."

Harry pulled out his wand and picked up the duffle. "Definitely time for Ickle Ronnikins to have a nap, then. Go ahead to bed."

"Wait a mo" Ron levered himself off the chair and rummaged through the bag for a moment. It took him no time at all to located the souveniers he'd purchased before the beach incident. "Here," he said, and pulled out the bottle of rum. "With love from the Carribean."

Hermione burst into peals of laughter.

Harry could've just banished Ron's back upstairs, but he opted to carry it himself while Ron shuffled achingly along behind. He hadn't thought it was possible to be this raw, or this soreit felt like he was getting Doxy bites on bits he hadn't known were _there._ Harry stopped at the bedroom door, dropped the duffle, and gently grabbed Ron's shoulder. "Welcome home, mate," he whispered, and planted his own kiss on Ron's mouth.

"Mmmm..." Harry's mouth and body were just as familiar as Hermione's, and just as appreciated. Though it smelled like he'd been nicking Ron's aftershave. "Wish I'd never left."

Harry drew the curtains in the bedroom before he left, and Ron flopped onto the bed after kicking off those ugly flip-flops. He didn't even bother to peel off the rest of his borrowed clothing; he simply sprawled flat on his stomach on top of the sheets. His burnt shoulders ached, but he was far too exhausted to care. He had spent the previous night naked in a lock-up with some drunken American tourists and a fat, leering wizard with a whole mouth full of golden teeth; he was entitely to some quality shut-eye, and no sunburn was going to get in the way.

He wasn't sure how long he dozed in that position; the light that leaked through the curtains had the same early-afternoon quality, but he couldn't get his eyes to focus on the clock. Not when there were more important things to focus on, anyway. "Whassamatter?" he mumbled at the familiar figures crawling onto the matress.

"Shhh." Hermione brushed his hair back and nuzzled his face. "We brought you a present"

Ron took a deep breath and smiled. "You've been into the rum, haven't you?"

"A little bit."

On his other size, the mattress jiggled and dipped. "We saved plenty for you," Harry said, and Ron heard the clink of glass on the bedside table.

"But that's not the present," Hermione insisted. She set a large clay jar on the sheets in front of him. Ron's eyes couldn't focus on the label in the low light, not that it was important. "I popped down to the apothecary to get something for your sunburn and found this. It ought to heal you right up."

Hermione unscrewed the lid and scooped up a fingerful of the cream, or lotion, or whatever; it was pale colored with darker flecks of different sizes, and it smelled incongruously like a Christmas cookie. She rubbed it on the back of his hand, where it tingled fiercely, but the raw ache of the sunburn disappeared and the redness faded almost instantly into a dense patch of freckles. "Brilliant," Ron sighed. "Gimme s'more."

He reached for it, but Harry reached over and grabbed his hand, pulling it back. "Ah ah ah," he said. "Hermione didn't tell you the best part."

"What best part?" If it would make him feel less like an overcooked sausage, he didn't see what could be better.

Harry swirled his finger in the ointment, coating it thickly. He smeared a line of it across Ron's mouth, where it tingled just as bad, then leaned over so Ron could see his face. "It's _edible,_" Harry whispered with an indecent leer, and then he slowly and deliberately sucked his finger clean.

__

"Oh." Ron swallowed, and licked his lips; the stuff tasted like Christmas cookies too, not really sweet but heavy with spices. The ointment made his tongue tingle, but the sight of Harry sliding his wet finger and and out of his puckered mouth was having a much more intense effect some place further down the bed. So _that's _what they were up to.

Hermione giggled and bent her head in, licking the traces of lotion off Ron's lips before slipping her tongue into his mouth. She pulled back just when it was getting interesting, though. "Harry and I will take care of you," she said solemnly. "You just lie still and enjoy it."

Ron felt a shiver creep painfully up his spine. "Yes, ma'am."

Harry rolled away for a moment, and Ron heard the clatter of wood as he sensed something moving precariously close to his aching back. _"Evanesco,_" Harry said, and the hideous tropical clothing evaporated like smoke. "Didn't look good on you anyway. Very bad color choice."

"All colors look bad on me," Ron grumbled. "Redhead."

"Shush now," Hermione said, and picked up the jar. Ron buried his head in his folded arms, and gasped a little when the first splash of cool salve hit his skin. Then four hands started spreading it and rubbing it in, and he groaned and arched up into the touch. Two whole weeks away from his lovers was fourteen days too long, and no wank in a hotel shower could compare to even the simple pleasure of this touch, even if it didn't end up where he was absolutely positive it was leading.

Harry smeared more ointment down his left tricep, a surprisingly sensitive place that Ron didn't think about all that much. He supposed there was something to say about full-body sunburns if they could bring a bloke awake like this, make him aware of so many more parts than usual. Hermione's slick hands moved up the nape of his neck and around his shoulders, cooling the burn while at the same time relaxing the stiff, knotted mucles there. "Missed you," Ron sighed. "Missed you both so damn much."

Hermione stroked the rim of his sunburned ear, soothing the skin even as she excited its wearer. "We missed you, too," she whispered, and the licked the excess ointment off. Ron whimpered.

Meanwhile, with a jiggle of the matress, Harry finished with Ron's arm and shoulders and started working his way down his boyfriend's spine. Ron couldn't help but tense with anticipation as he felt Harry's hands move lower and lower and down his back. Hermione rubbed the excess of ointment onto Ron's forearm and frowned down the bed. "What are you waiting for, Harry?" she asked.

"You."

"Ahhh."

Ron snorted as she crawled down towards Harry, even if it did give him a beautiful look at her arse. "What am I here, the centerpiece?" he grumbled in a friendly sort of way.

"Oh, don't start," Hermione said sternly. "Harry's just looking for an excuse to grope us both at the same time."

"I though the whole point of us living together," Harry said, as Ron felt more salve trickle onto the base of his spine, "was that I didn't need an excuse to grope you."

Ron groaned as four hands started to squeeze and caress his buttocks, the lotion transforming the pain of the burn into a sensual pleasure. He couldn't see them in this position without twisting himself up in a pretzel, and he couldn't tell just by touch which hands belonged to whoor, at least, it required far too much concentration than he was willing to give at the moment. Someone's slick fingers slid between his cheeks, and he groaned again and not-too-subtly tried to spread his legs further apart.

"Hey," Harry said, "I think I found one bit of you that's not sunburnt." He rubbed Ron's perineum, and Ron rolled his hips back into his hand, hissing at the abrasion of his still-raw front against the duvet and clutching at the pillows for self-control.

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Harry, you're wasting the ointment," she said as she moved down to the much less sensitive backs of Ron's thighs. "We still have to do his other side, you know."

"Well," Harry said in a suspiciously innocent voice, "far be it from me to waste anything." And a warm puff of breath on his arse was all the warning Ron got before he felt a tongue between his legs, probing from his arsehole all the way to his balls and back, licking up the traces of lotion. Ron growled and arched back, trying to rub himself against Harry's face without rubbing himself on the bedclothes. His cock _hurt,_ and he was hardly even hard; sunburnt skin didn't stretch very well, he supposed.

"That's not very constructive," Hermione said a little breathlessly from the vicinity of his knee.

Harry pulled back. "And are either of you complaining?"

Ron shook he head into the pillows. "Harry, I'm burned _all over,_" he wailed. "You're going to kill me."

"Surely not _all_ over..." With one hand, Harry urged him to roll onto his back; Ron felt the duvet stick to the ointment on his skin. Now he could see his lovers properly, though, and they looked amazinga little rumpled, a little sticky themselves, kneeling at the foot of the bed and surveying him with faces that looked as hungry as he felt. The tent in Harry's trousers didn't hurt, either. Hermione winced when she saw him front the front, but Harry just groaned. "Dammit, you win."

"I told you," Hermione said, scooping up more of the ointment with two fingers.

Ron blink. "Wha? Win what?"

She smiled. "Harry bet me a Galleon that it was impossible to get a sunburn on one's penis," she announced. And before Ron could comment on Harry's stupidity or the etiquette of making a bet about something as serious as a burnt cock, Hermione daubed he head of his with the cool ointment, making him gasp. With practiced familiarity, she wrapped her hand around it and started stroking, rubbing in the salve as she brought him to full hardness.

Harry poked her in the ribs. "Now who's not being constructive?"

"And are you complaining?"

He looked at Ron, who shrugged and let his head fall back against the pillows. "I suppose not." Ron felt the mattress shift, and then Harry was leaning over him, "But that means I have to find my own way of being unconstructive, don't I?"

"Go for it," Ron groaned, fisting the sheets.

Harry's smirk was evil; he grabbed the pot of ointment from Hermione and scooped up a big dribbly glob of it. This he spread up over Ron's chest, down to his stomach and then up around his neck, before dropping his hand down to rub Ron's nipples. "Looks like I used a bit much," he said.

"Is there any left?" Hermione asked, and thendamn her to helllet go of Ron's cock.

"A bit."

"Enough to finish him off, though?"

Harry smirked. "I don't think we'll have any trouble finishing him off."

"Not if you don't stop talking," Ron growled.

"All right," Harry said pleasently, and started licking the excess cream off Ron's chest. He followed a streak of it straight to Ron's nipple, tweaking the other with his hand. Ron growled in frustrationtoo much sensation, but still not enoughand reached for Harry's hair with one hand, his cock with the other.

Hermione batted him away, though. "I suppose it is a bit cruel to leave you like this," she said, hitching up her skirt. "And we certainly aren't going to accomplish anything more..."

"Just do something, _please,_" Ron groaned, angling his hips up at her. He felt Harry snicker against his chest, and then his friend was licking his way up, up, up to the curve of Ron's neck, where they both bloody well knew he was so sensitive, kissing and nibbling and nuzzling his unshaven jaw. Who knew Harry'd have a thing for stubble?

Hermione wriggled, and with a frustrated little sigh she peeled her dress up over her head and threw it aside. No knickers, no bra; she was _not_ going to say she hadn't planned this. Ron propped himself up on his elbows a bit, just to look at her while she draped herself across his hips; to relearn the lines of her shoulders, the swell of her breasts, the small soft tummy she was so self-conscious about, the breadth of her hips. Harry left off kissing to watch as well. "She's amazing," he whispered.

"Yeah," Ron sighed, the moment before Hermione hoisted herself up and rubbed her vulva over the head of his cock. God, she was _dripping_that was the problem with women, you couldn't just tell when they were horny, not like with a bloke. Then Hermione sank down, and down, and down, and any thoughts of blokes flew from Ron's mind. "Please," Ron gasped, thrusting up into her, "please, God, Hermione, you're so tight..."

"Haven'tdidn't feel right without you," she panted, and then she _squeezed_ him, inside, and he saw little stars. But he could hardly move his hips in this position, he could hardly move at all, and Hermione was going too too slow, too slow...

Harry suddenly sat up, jarring Ron's attention back to the other person in the bed. His jeans were around his kneesdamn, another one with no underwear, they were out to get himand he crawled clumsily down to Hermione, erection standing straight out from his body. He wrapped his arms around her, cupping her breast with his near hand while he whispered in her ear, and in Ron's eyes they were just so damn beautiful he could scream. She nodded at whatever Harry said, then, to Ron's horror, stopped moving altogether.

Instead she bent over as far as she could, sprawling out over him and nearly popping off his erection. "Roll over," she whispered to him, as he clutched at her waist. "Over me."

Ron did, and immediately buried himself deep inside her. She gasped and arched to meet him, but then he felt Harry's hands on his hips and Harry's body looming over his. "Slow it down, mate," Harry whispered in his ear. "You're not the only one here with a nasty case of blue balls."

He was about to demand to know how Harry expected him to slow anything down when he felt a finger slide into his arse, lubing and stretching him and studiously avoiding his prostate. Probably all for the best, really; he wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out. Ron rocked back into Harry's hand, then forward into Hermione's body, and really, she had to be getting bored at this point, he ought to do something for her...he groped blindly between their bodies until he found her clit, and started stroking it with the pad of his thumb while Harry hastily repositioned them both with sticky hands. Hermione moaned deliciously and started to squirm, and damn it, if she didn't cut that out he was going to come

He felt the head of Harry's cock pop into him and winced a little; it had been too long, definitely too long. Ron pushed back onto Harry, relishing the feeling in spite of the ache, and then Harry thrust forward and jammed him into Hermione. Too much, it was all too much; he wasn't going to last like this, not much longer, as they jerked and jolted into the barest semblance of a rhythm together. _Not yet,_ he chanted in his head, willing the sensation to last. _Not yet, not yet, not yet..._

Too late...

He came spectacularly, and felt Hermione follow a moment after with a knee-melting moan. Harry held out just a little longer, but his thrusting abruptly stopped and Ron felt his cock twitch inside him. He let himself tip over sideways, so that he was lying next to Hermione with Harry behind in one big, sticky, cookie-scented mess. _This _was what he'd missed, more than just the sex; how the three of them together felt like home.

Hermione stroked his chest for a quiet minute as they all recovered; then she twisted around and peered into the empty jar. "All gone," she said, a little hoarse now. "Damn."

"The rum's not," Harry said, though the words were muffled by the pillows and Ron's shoulders.

"True." Hermione set the ointment jar aside and reached for the bottle and one of the glasses with it. "But rum doesn't do much for a sunburn either."

Ron looked down at himself; the only parts they hadn't gotten to were his arms below the elbow, his legs, and parts of his face. "I'll live," he said sleepily. "At least this I won't have to explain so much."

Hermione passed him a glass with just a shot of rum in the bottle, then held one out to Harry. Ron shifted so he was flat on his back, and Harry sat up a bit so he could drink. "We missed you, you know," he said thoughtfully before he downed his shot.

"Missed you two...too," he replied automatically. Then something Hermione had said earlier finally registered with him, and he looked at his lovers in surprise. "You really didn't...the whole time I was gone?"

"The whole time," Harry said solemnly. "Like Hermione said, it didn't feel right."

"We know how left out you feel when the paper makes you travel," she added, sipping from her own glass. "So we decided, from now on, we'll not leave you out. Of anything."

"You don't have to do that," he insisted, but the thought of them waiting for him like that made his heart swell.

Hermione lay back down agains him and nuzzled his neck. "We wanted to. Damn near killed us in the process, though."

"Though if every homecoming gets to be like this," Harry added, "it might well be worth the wait."

Ron snickered, but it turned into a yawn. Hermione patted his check. "Now you can really get some sleep. Sorry we woke you."

"No, we aren't," Harry said.

"I was being polite.

Ron snickered and pulled them both against him, spilling a little rum on the sheets in the process. It was already stained with the ointment, though, so he supposed it didn't really matter. "Stay," he said. "Just for a bit."

Harry snickered. "Don't think I could go if I wanted to, mate."

"Good."

Ron's eyes sank shut, but just on the edge of sleep he heard Harry suddenly start to snicker. Hermione shushed him loudly. "What's so funny?"

"Look" Ron felt one of Harry's hands move. "He really has got them all over, now."

Overcome by curiousity, Ron managed to crack an eye open and focus just long enough to see what Harry was pointing at. His own penis lay soft in his lap, pink from sex and sticky; and because it had been as burnt as the rest of him, it was now liberally sprinkled with freckles.

He was _never_ going to live this down.


End file.
